


won’t you please just take my hand, and take my whole life too

by softsound



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Harry, As is Sophia, Barista Louis, Chef Niall, For a bit anyway, Forbidden Love, Harry is lost for a while, Liam owns a coffee shop, Louis is just trying to make it, M/M, More tags to add later on, Mutual Pining, They're both really messed up, Zayn is only briefly mentioned, a lot of pining, a lot of soul searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7801531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsound/pseuds/softsound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He makes Harry stop dead in his tracks, staring even though he never stares. For this, this absolute deity of a man who stands before him is nothing Harry has ever seen before.</p><p>He’s never been one for poetry, but he’d write this man poems about how he looks like the moon and the stars, with comets in his eyes and the secret to life waiting just inside his lips. For he is absolutely beautiful yet out of Harry’s reach. Even so, Harry knows it wouldn’t be enough. </p><p>Nothing would ever be enough to actually explain the beauty this man possesses.</p><p>[or Artist!Harry goes to his favorite coffee shop, and he finds out there's a new barista. He’s been needing inspiration for a while, so he begins to draw the barista and just can't seem to stop.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	won’t you please just take my hand, and take my whole life too

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, time really got away from me while I was writing this and I have come to the realization that I suck at time management, so this is much too short and jumps around a bit, but I'm proud of it and I hope you like it. It took me a while to get it to be as long as it is and I am really thrilled to finally share it. 
> 
> I went into this with my head filled with ideas, all of which are still there, so I'm gonna try to work on several epilogues of sort for later that would go after the fic, so I'll make sure to add those as I go.
> 
> I really want to thank my beta for being the best friend ever and for actually giving me great, amazing feedback on the whole thing. This fic would've gone nowhere without you.
> 
> Finally, I had no britpicker, so if a few things are not accurate, I'm truly sorry. Please feel free to comment and let me know what's wrong so I can try to change it later.
> 
> Without further ado, this is my work and I hope you enjoy x

It’s early in the morning, _far too early_ in Harry’s opinion.

There’s sunlight streaming in through the blinds, sun rays casting intricate shadows on his naked torso and limbs. He shields his eyes lazily with his partially inked arms even though he knows he’s not gonna be able to fall asleep again. His sketchbook is somewhere to his left, having caved in to the tiredness that was taking over his eyes late into the night. It was nearing 4 a.m. when his body gave up on staying awake, finally calling it a day.

He probably forgot to shut the curtains _again_ before falling asleep. He’d make a deal out of reminding himself to do so next time, but the moon and the stars are too wonderful companions to deny himself of their company. It was much better than sitting alone, mortifying himself while he thought about the empty side of his bed.

In a strange turn of events, he actually made it to his bed that night. Mostly, he falls asleep on the couch or on the floor while sketching, not really used to even touching his bed. It’s been a problem he’s had since his dad passed away. Never really sleeps, never really rests. Just sketches and wonders if love is even a thing and if it’s worth it.

Lately, he comes to the conclusion it’s not.

Harry groans, burying the thought aside for when pay day comes and he can go buy himself a bottle of that cheap wine his sister told him about. Those make great companions on sleepless nights too.

He sits up, hands automatically fumbling through his matted, pillow-crushed hair before rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. It crosses his mind that he should probably get a haircut soon, his hair reaching past his shoulders even after curling at the ends. He tugs at it gently to get rid of knots, far too fond of it now to think about getting it cut.

Besides, he’s still planning on getting himself the wine first.

Yet, he knows both will have to wait until he gets his shit together and starts saving the extra money he has left from his salary every week. He has tried to do it for several months now but he likes to pretend next week he’ll actually do it.

Eventually, Harry gets up, readjusting his boxers as he weaves his way to the kitchen. He’s still getting used to the smaller size of the apartment, not yet accepting the loneliness it brings to him. It was easier to be woken up by his roommate, Liam, before he went to school and already have a cup of tea waiting for him. Now though, he's almost sure he doesn't even have milk to make tea, knows it’d be stupid to go check. Instead, he just heads to the bathroom to shower before heading to Liam’s cafe for some breakfast.

As the water heats up, he starts working shampoo into his curls while keeping his eyes closed, humming an unknown tune he must’ve picked up last night somewhere. It’s probably a piece the pianist played at work, undeniably slow and jazzy, like what they play at the restaurant. Harry doesn’t mind, much too busy trying to earn some money for himself as he serves meals from table to table. It’s only for a few hours a day anyway, and it pays the bills, so he’s satisfied.

Harry cleans himself up as best as he can, rubbing his own soap-covered hands over his body and scrubbing at places that need extra attention. He takes his time, knowing all the nicks and tricks to every single one of his body parts.

After taking care of everything as best as he could, he rinses and shuts the water off, drying and dressing himself quickly after. He pulls on a pair of skinny jeans, a T-shirt, and boots to go to _Liam’s Brew_ for a few hours before work.

As he does every morning.

When he’s done with that, he fixes his hair and collects a few pencils and blank pages to sketch on while he’s there. Placing them in a messenger bag, he throws on his coat, exiting his small apartment. Once in the hallway, he makes sure he’s locked up and taken his keys with him before going down the stairs and out to the street.

The weather is still a bit warm from summer, but with fall coming soon, there are imminent promises for cooler breezes and possible snow. After living in London for several years, Harry has come to enjoy this small period in between though, when the trees are warm-colored and the wind is still bearable, rain still just water and not sloshy snow. When there’s still a chance to walk from his apartment to other places, not being forced to take the bus to keep his feet from freezing.

It was a big change for him, leaving his hometown to try to chase an artistic career elsewhere. His mom had been extremely worried, to say the least. She called everyday countless times until Harry eventually stopped answering. She also worried that he’d probably starve to death, having no one to look after him in a strange new city.

She was right, as always. Harry would’ve pretty much starved if it weren’t for Liam and Niall. They looked after him, in a way. Even if he didn’t share an apartment with Liam anymore, or if he hadn’t seen Niall in a few months. He had been lucky enough to find great people in his new home, which only made him enjoy London even more.

As much as he loves London though, Harry tries almost desperately to find a certain scene that might get him something different to draw or paint when he gets home, but alas, there’s nothing he hasn’t done before.

Harry’s covered a lot of different art subjects over the years, almost everything from street landscapes to strangers’ portraits to nature in any way. The only problem is, he’s grown tired of the same old thing, desperately trying to find a new muse.

He knows there are dangerous places to look for it, knows that sinking into alcohol or drugs to encounter it will only fuck him up deeply in the end. Sometimes though, he just wishes there was a way to speed up the process, to skip many moments like these to come up to the end of his struggles.

Oh, what Harry wouldn’t give to have something to inspire him everyday for the rest of his life.

He quickens his step as the small cafe comes into view, ducking his head lightly as he greets the customers sitting on the outdoor tables before walking inside. It only takes him a moment to notice that there aren’t many customers at the moment, the usual early morning rush hour long over.

Immediately upon entering _Liam’s Brew_ , what you see if what you get. Teal-colored walls dotting with paintings –some by Harry himself– and flowers hanging everywhere possible. There’s tables and booths far to the right, several lined up against the windows to provide an outside view. To the left there are small gathering areas, most made up of a couch or two and a table among them. Finally, on the space in between, there’s a door leading to the kitchen, a counter with several pastries lined up, and a bar accommodating the master coffee machine and the cash register.

Coming up to the bar, Harry rings the silver counter bell he knows drives Liam crazy, can almost instantly feel a smile spreading his lips when he hears footsteps behind the service door.

“Christ, Styles, you know you don’t have to touch the bloody bell!” Liam calls from the kitchen before trailing in carrying a few clean dishes to stack behind the counter.

If there was one word that could describe Liam perfectly, it would be bold. Harry had decided on it a long time ago. There was _something_ about Liam that always seemed to grab people’s attention. Whether it was his people skills, his creativity, or his resolve, Harry didn’t know, but it was still there. It draws you in and gets you to like him instantly, making it all the easier to open up to him 

It also doesn’t help that he’s so fucking attractive it actually _hurts_. A square face, strong jaw dotted with stubble, infinitely expressive and rich chocolate-brown eyes, decently thick lips, and a lean and fit body give Liam the definition of _rugged_ without fail. Harry wanted to sit on his lap and spill all of his secrets if it meant having Liam so close. It was too bad Liam didn’t exactly lean towards bisexuality.

Once Liam’s done putting the plates and cups away, he stands in front of Harry, shaking his head in disapproval. It’s something they do everyday and Harry thinks it would be much more convincing if Liam didn’t smile while he did so. Yet, he can’t deny he likes when his best friend acts disturbed by what he does.

“I suppose you’re here for today’s breakfast?”

“Turns out money is a bit tight and I don’t even have milk around,” Harry shrugs, but he knows Liam gets it. 

Harry doesn’t have as much money left as he did when he lived with Liam, being the sole supporter of his apartment now that he lives alone. He’d probably never eat decent meals if it weren’t for Liam. Harry thinks he’s pretty lucky to have Liam as a friend, but he’d probably never confess it to him. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll tell Steve to cook up some eggs while I start on tea,” Liam offers, clapping Harry’s shoulder before heading to the back, already requesting Steve –the chef– to get started on breakfast. 

Harry makes his way to his usual booth, the third window down, which overlooked the neighborhood park. It’s pretty common for him to immediately turn towards the window to see whatever is going on outside. 

While some people would call Harry distracted, he’d rather say he was observant, of the world around him and the people who roamed it. He had always been curious of the world and all objects within it, always asked about everything and anything. It made him a bit annoying when he was a kid, which is why he turned quieter as he got older. His mother never fails to ask him what happened, yet Harry just shrugs and avoids the topic.

He wouldn’t call himself shy, just a tad more reserved when it came to sharing his thoughts. Maybe he could’ve blamed it on his manners and being polite and all that, but unfortunately, he was never the same after he figured out he was irritating because he was rather inquisitive.

A lot of people tell you there’s nothing wrong with being yourself. Harry would like to shove a stick up their asses, _thank you very much_.

“A cup of tea as promised,” Liam hums as he sets the boiling drink in front of Harry. He immediately reaches for the drink, wrapping his long fingers around the warm cup while Liam sits down across from him. “I’m holding interviews for a new barista in the afternoon, so you definitely need to leave before then.”

Harry actually laughs at that. Maybe his brain is still dormant –even after his shower earlier– but Liam definitely does not mess around while at work. “Worried I might take another one away?”

Liam’s face turns a bit sour, his eyes almost narrowed at Harry. “H, as much as I like you, getting my baristas to model for you and never calling them again makes it very hard for me to run a business.”

And, okay. Liam has a point.

Nevertheless, it’s definitely not Harry’s fault that they all think he’s promising the moon and the stars and heaven when all he asks for is a model for a few sketches. Besides, none of them were very good at that either.

Needless to say, Liam and Harry both learned to hire professionals the hard way.

“Fine, I’ll try to engage with the new employee as little as possible,” Harry agrees, picking up his tea and sipping slowly. He quite likes how Liam prepares the beverage, just hot enough that it won’t burn your tongue at the touch.

“Thanks, you’re a true friend, H.”

Harry just limits himself to answer with a nod as Liam’s voice has just the right amount of seriousness to be a little scared. Liam definitely wouldn’t hesitate to hurt him, which he’s learned the hard way.

As always, Harry eats his food and sketches quietly while Liam tends to customers and prepares coffee as he goes. They’ve learned to be in each other’s presence like so over the years, only bound to perfect it as time went on. It’s a normal morning, really.

 

…………

 

Keeping his promise, Harry leaves the coffee shop early, taking the bus to get to the restaurant faster. It’s not that far from Liam’s cafe, but he can’t really risk being late to work. He didn’t really get the job by himself, he had Niall pull some strings back when he was working as a sous chef.

It’s easy to say he misses him dearly.

In turn, he promised to keep the job for as long as possible –until something better showed up or he eventually made money off his art and didn’t need a day job. That’s why he’s there early, his hair already pulled back and his things quickly put in his locker. He manages to change into his work clothes with no complications, picking up a tray and starting his shift as soon as his boss decides to check on him. He’s learned to do as he’s asked and to not ask for much in return.

Except for his paycheck, of course.

The place isn’t even that bad, if he’s honest. It’s a high-end restaurant that serves the kind of meals that Harry could only ever wish to afford. The decor is kind of posh as well, with velvet-covered chairs, fancy tablecloths, expensive arrangements of flowers everywhere, and long wide windows framed with gold linings. 

The main dining room is very spacious, leaving a great amount of room for the waiters to buzz around. The pianist is set up at the far right in a corner, its melodies bouncing off the wall lightly. It’s normally a very calm environment to be around, not much trouble made. 

It’s until he’s well into his third hour of his shift that things go awry. It’s unusual for the kitchen staff or the servers to get the orders wrong, yet it manages to happen every once in a while. Unfortunately for him, this time it’s his tables at stake. 

Eyeing the chicken salad and stew that has just been dispatched for him to serve, Harry takes a deep breath. Fucking fantastic. “This is not my order.” 

The chef stops preparing whatever dish was at hand and turns to him, his eyebrows angry and his voice a little too loud for Harry’s taste. “What do you mean it’s not the order?” 

Ever since he turned ‘quiet’, his mom was worried Harry would be pushed around and bullied into doing things he didn’t want to do. Contrary to her beliefs, Harry knew how to stand his ground well. “I mean I ordered clam chowder and a steak, not chicken salad and whatever broth this is,” he explains as he tries to keep his voice low and calm. 

Almost growling, the chef turns to his sous, his knuckles nearly white from how tight he’s holding his spatula. “Did you take that order?” 

Harry can see the sous gulp back, his nerves visible to everyone in the kitchen. He only nods the slightest, his eyes pleading and his posture embarrassed. No one likes to be pointed at for making mistakes, especially not to be ridiculed in front of everybody. 

Throwing his spatula on the table, the chef curses out as quietly as he can, which is still the volume of a regular person speaking. “Can you manage to get the fucking order right this time or should I just fire you now?” he bellows out next, his expression like fire. 

At this point, Harry expects the sous to be burnt and crying, but he seems to stand his ground too. Maybe not as well as Harry, but he’ll get there. He apologizes to Harry and starts cooking, the entire kitchen finally back to its normal working environment. It’s then that Harry realizes he should tell the clients there’ll be a slight delay. 

Fucking great.

 

…………

 

He’s late, _very much late_ if you ask him. 

He dashes off the bus as soon as it stops on the corner and keeps running until he’s sure he’s made it to his destination. Taking the doorknob in his hand, he forces himself to stop and breathe for _five_ seconds before opening the door slowly and stepping inside.

_Don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up..._

It’s terribly obvious who the owner of the cafe is –a tall, broad shouldered man standing behind the counter. He cleans absentmindedly, his posture somewhat rigid at most. Willing some hope into himself, he takes cautious steps towards the man, trying –and maybe failing– to stay calm. 

He suddenly registers that he’s clearing his throat, catching the owner’s attention enough to have him look up. “Hi,” he starts, voice a little uneven. “I’m here for the barista opening.” 

The man offers him a small smile, standing up straighter and adopting his full height. As if he wasn’t intimidated enough already. “I’d say you’re late if more people had shown up for the interview, but it’s between you and two twenty-something year olds whose names I don’t even remember. Do you have a resume?” 

He unzips his backpack in record time, pulling out the folder he knew contained the piece of paper. He only got the folder on a whim, wanting to impress the person interviewing him, yet he knows it’s probably just stupid. 

The owner reaches for it without second thought, pulling his resume out and giving it a quick read. His eyebrows furrow the slightest as he concentrates, taking his time only to make him even more nervous. “I’m Liam. Have you worked a coffee machine before?” 

“Erm- I worked at a cafe for a year. I’m pretty sure I can get the hang of it quickly.” 

He plays with his hands while Liam –he should’ve known, the place is called _Liam’s Brew_ for fuck’s sake– keeps reading, definitely thankful he’s not being observed yet. Liam raises his eyebrows now, maybe with a hint of curiosity. “You’re not from here, are you?” 

At once, he shakes his head, scratching the back of his neck while he struggles to form a proper sentence. “Doncaster, actually. I’m still getting used to London.” 

If something’s wrong with that, Liam doesn’t say. He just hums in slight agreement as he finishes off the resume. He looks up then, assessing him up and down for a minute before smiling again. “You’d work from 8 to 2 or 3 to 8, five days a week. We can work out shifts while we go. I’d be around the first few weeks while you’re here, and as you get used to the place, I’ll be around less. Other than that, I think you’re fit for the job.” 

Instantly, he feels his shoulders slump as he starts to relax, a small smile even setting itself on his lips. “I can start as soon as tomorrow morning, if you’d like.” 

Handing him the resume back, Liam nods and extends his hand out. “That’d be great, actually. Thanks for coming,” Liam pauses, waiting for a name.

“Oh- Louis,” he clarifies, wrapping his hand around Liam’s in a firm handshake. 

“Thanks, Louis. I hope you stick around.”

 

…………

 

The next day, Harry wakes with a start. He made it to his bed again, yet he didn’t even pull the sheets down before he fell asleep, the curtains actually pulled shut this time. He debates on turning and falling back asleep, but his alarm clock reads 10:36 a.m. and, for once, he’d like to get an ‘early’ start on the day. 

Everything is much of the same, nevertheless. He showers and gets ready to pay Liam a visit at his cafe, sheets of paper and pencils tucked in his bag to do something before work. As much as he dislikes routines, Harry was raised on them and couldn’t help getting caught up in a pattern all over again. 

The only explanation is that being an adult mainly sucks.

He has it down to near science, though, walking nearly six blocks in under ten minutes just to have Liam feed him breakfast like he does on normal days like these. He can even make out the coffeehouse from the second he steps out of his apartment building, his feet automatically taking him in that direction. It feels like only a second has passed when he opens the door and steps inside. 

Yet, as his foot hits the hardwood floor, Harry knows. _Doubtlessly_ , today isn’t a normal day.

Today, there’s a new barista behind the counter. An acceptably _petit_ lad with feathery, amber-brown hair and the sharpest cheekbones anyone had ever witnessed. He’s wiping at the counter top with smooth strokes, his whole body entirely focused on the task at hand. Harry can see tattoos peeking out from where his shirtsleeves are rolled up, black ink staining his otherwise flawless olive skin. It makes Harry stop dead in his tracks, staring even though he _never_ stares. For this, this absolute _deity_ of a man who stands before him is nothing Harry has ever seen before.

Harry’s never been one for poetry, but he’d write this man poems about how he looks like the moon and the stars, with comets in his eyes and the secret to life waiting just inside his lips. For he is absolutely beautiful yet out of Harry’s reach. Even so, Harry knows it wouldn’t be enough. 

Nothing would _ever_ be able to compare to the beauty this man possesses.

It should be quite embarrassing to be caught staring at someone as bluntly as Harry is staring at the barista, but he honestly can’t find it in himself to care. For he has seen so many beautiful things in his life and, none are quite like him. Someone should make a word for how _exquisite_ he is.

It’s utterly unbelievable.

Snapping out of the man’s near spell, Harry takes on a slow, confident stride as he approaches the counter. His lips are settled on a light smile, the warmest he can muster considering he still hasn’t had breakfast and he showered through gritted teeth.

The man gazes up a little startled, as if he had been deep in thought before Harry interrupted it with the heels of his boots clicking on the floor. He almost wants to apologize for disturbing him in, yet he knows it’d be very stupid to do so, as well as just plain creepy.

Instead, he settles on, “Excuse me, is Liam here?”

He looks at Harry up and down, but if it’s good or bad, Harry doesn’t know. He only watches the gorgeous stranger’s clear, sea-colored eyes rake him over with a quick glance and hopes for the best. When he opens his mouth and speaks, Harry almost stops breathing. “He’s in the back.”

As his hands grip the edge of the counter to steady himself, Harry takes a deep breath, willing himself to pry his lips open and talk before he completely combusts and ceases to exist. He feels as if he has been lost and is now finally found, yet he suffers from loss of words and wits and everything, really. He’s truly _speechless_. “Can you, please, tell him Harry’s here and that I need to speak to him?”

The lad takes a moment to think about Harry’s request, yet he only nods and turns on his heel, walking towards the back and leaving Harry to his thoughts. Which are proper mush, honestly. All of them liquified and blended thoroughly due to his presence, his absence, his _entirety_. In all his years, Harry never thought he’d feel like this. So full and empty, hopeful and futile, determined and unresolved.

Everything and nothing, all at once.

“Do you want the usual, H?” Liam disrupts his thoughts, holding onto the kitchen door open slightly while he peeks his head out.

It takes about half a minute for Harry to actually process Liam’s words before nodding. He doesn’t even know how he has it in him to actually talk, but he feels his lips moving and his voice in his ears. “Can I talk to you for a second? In private?”

As the petition leaves his mouth, Harry already knows Liam is bound to scowl and feign a few excuses to get out of it, so it’s really not his fault when he grabs Liam’s wrist and pulls him to his booth, half-forcing him to sit down next to him.

It’s also not his fault his head is racing a mile a minute with every single detail he could absorb of Liam’s new employee. He is only human, of course.

And a rather romantic one at that.

“I thought you were hiring a new barista,” Harry whisper-shouts at Liam, his eyes wide and his hands’ grip on the table a tad strong.

“I did..?”

As great and smart as Liam is, sometimes he’s more dense than wood. “You did not hire a barista, you hired- he’s just- he’s absolutely _mesmerizing_. Where did you even get this guy-?”

“Harry,” Liam cuts in with his warning voice, “I told you, I don’t want you associating with my baristas anymore.”

“Li, you know I absolutely wouldn’t, but just look at him. He’s actually killing me right now. He exceeds everyone’s standard of perfection,” he can hardly grit out without yelling or flailing his hands around.

Don’t blame him for being so excited. 

Immediately, Harry feels Liam’s shoulders slump beside him and there’s a sigh leaving his lips. He knows that’s definitely not good. “Look, H, I’m sorry but I’m not gonna fire him and I can’t have you flirting with him while he’s working. So if that’s going to be a problem..”

His eyes are on Harry expectantly and fuck. He understands that Liam needs to absolutely keep this barista longer than 5 weeks and he doesn’t have it in himself to ruin that for him. He’s just screwed. “I won’t bother him,” Harry mumbles, his eyes already looking down at his lap, posture showing he’s rather defeated.

Liam wraps his arm around Harry’s shoulders and gives him a light squeeze, letting his fingers tug at Harry’s curls lovingly. “He’s a nice guy. I just want this, and him, to actually work. Thanks for doing this for me, Harry.”

And how can he say no to that? If Liam didn’t feed him and wasn’t, overall, one of the best people Harry knew, he’d ignore his request. Yet, as much as this guy makes him feel like he’s about to die and be born again, he has to keep this promise to Liam. No flirting with the new barista.

Even if it is easier said than done.

 

…………

 

For what it’s worth, Louis had expected his first day to be a lot calmer than it actually was. Sure, the customers were mostly nice and he’s quick to finish on orders, washing up the dishes and cleaning the counter whenever he gets a small break.

However, as much as he wishes to ignore it, there’s a guy in a booth with a notebook out, drawing and _mostly_ keeping to himself. It’s not the fact that he’s been there for _hours_ , but the fact that he’s certainly the most gorgeous man Louis has ever seen, in all of his life. With his marble-cutting jaw, his delicious emerald eyes, his chestnut curls, and his long and slender frame 

It definitely doesn’t help that Liam heads over and talks to him more often than not, which only makes him think they’re dating. Sitting alongside each other on the same seat whilst laughing and fetching more tea in between. Louis knows he should probably just ignore it, hell knows it’s obviously none of his business. 

And yet, he can’t get this guy out of his mind. This _Harry_ character, with his perfect pink lips and his gravelly voice and undeniable charm. It’s like he’s a planet of himself, with a gravity so strong nothing stands a fucking chance at resisting it. It’s no wonder Liam seems completely infatuated with him.

In other words, Louis is completely, endlessly doomed.

What frustrates him the most is the fact that he didn’t move to London to get awestruck by every fucking guy he meets. In all honesty, all Louis wants is to get a job, look for an internship at a local newspaper, and find an apartment that’s affordable. He’s already got the job and the apartment lined up, he doesn’t need a pretty bloke to come crash into the rest of his plan.

No matter how insanely pretty and fucking fit he is.

He wants to make his mother and sisters proud, wants to come back home for Christmas to gush all about how exciting London is and how great everything is going. How he has a good job with a nice boss and a great apartment and his internship ready. He wants them all to see that he can be independent, capable of living on his own.

So Louis minds his own business as much as he can, works for his pay and tries to think as little as possible about Harry sitting in the same exact booth every single morning. Even when he feels Harry’s sneaky glances from time to time. He can behave and be a professional which, isn’t that what he should be doing anyway? He’s at his fucking workplace, for fuck’s sake.

He better get his shit together fast.

 

…………

 

Don’t blame Harry. He’s weak. 

He wishes he could sleep in every morning, go to the cafe after 12 for ‘brunch’, and then just see the bartender walk out at 1, the official end of his shift. It would definitely make things easier, would keep them from getting involved with each other and would ultimately save him in the end. 

And yet.

Harry starts waking up at 9 every morning, jumping into the shower shortly after and then proceeds to get ready at lightning speed all to nearly race down to Liam’s cafe before 10. He sees the barista is there already, sometimes taking an order, other times cleaning around. _Doing his job_ , Harry most likely reminds himself, mentally rolling his eyes.

They’ve developed a strange, unspoken routine that consists of the barista notifying Liam every time Harry arrives and Harry pretty much just nodding his way before taking a seat in his booth while he waits for Liam. Harry can only think of how unfair it is that the barista knows his name but he doesn’t know the barista’s. 

Pity that. 

Then, after he’s had his breakfast, Harry proceeds on having two to three hours of sketching. And this is where the weak part comes in. 

When Harry was 12, he somehow convinced his mom to get him a special notebook that would be exclusive for drawings. He used to take it around everywhere and, once something caught his eye, he started drawing the object. Sometimes he couldn’t finish and wrote the ideas down for later, but all in all, the notebook was full of messy script and what he would now call doodles. 

There was also another particular pattern. Each time he would figure out how to draw something perfectly –or at least perfect in Harry’s opinion– he’d draw it over and over and over again. He’d use different pencils and pens, add color or shadows, repeated it endlessly until the technique was almost imprinted in his mind, which only resulted in pages upon pages of the same silly flower doodle with only slight variations.

And well. He’s weak because his sketches lately all have the barista as the subject. 

In his defense, the guy has an incredibly expressive face and body. You can immediately tell if he’s happy or tired or sad by just looking at his face and watching his motions. He always smiles a little wider at people who bring in kids, his entire being radiating happiness like a beacon. Every time he has to tend to a client that’s taller or bigger than he is he shields himself, almost trying to make himself smaller to not be seen as a threat of any kind. When he talks to Liam, he’s calm and collected, the most relaxed Harry has ever seen him.

The bartender has an infinite arsenal of emotions and expressions for everyone coming into the coffeehouse. And he has one for Harry too.

Cold and detached and almost defensive. As if Harry posed a threat to him by coming within a meter of him. They never exchange words, never even wave at each other. Maybe Liam told him not to get close to Harry, but it seemed unlikely. As much as Liam doesn’t want them associating, he’s never done such a thing.

So he just sits in his booth and sketches out all the faces he knows the barista has. Harry wonders if he’s happy outside of his job, if he has a boyfriend waiting for him when he gets home. If he ever crosses the barista’s mind.

Not likely.

“So,” Harry brings up one day absentmindedly, “how’s the barista working out?”

Liam turns to him with one of the most cheerful smiles he’s seen on him in ages, his eyes squinting a little from how his cheeks come up with his lips. “He’s doing great. At first I thought he’d be a bit clumsy, but Louis has definitely proven to be a very professional and collected employee.”

 _Louis_.

Harry makes a mental note to add the word in his vocabulary. _Louis: the most intriguing, captivating person ever to walk the earth_.

 

…………

 

He keeps sitting in the same exact spot for the next three weeks and it’s honestly making a hole in Louis’ brain. As much as he wishes he could just ignore the guy, it gets progressively harder and harder with each passing _hour_. He wants to just build a wall and keep him out of his head and mind completely.

He just doesn’t want to get hurt.

Granted, Harry hasn’t tried to make a move on him, can probably even see how Louis tries to repel him entirely, but just looking at him makes Louis weak at the knees. His heart starts rabbiting in his chest and pounding in his ears and he can barely turn around and escape to the kitchen to hide himself. He knows the poor guy is just here to see Liam and have some breakfast and to work on whatever it is he works on everyday.

He obviously pays no mind to Louis.

Even so, it makes Louis all the more curious to find out what he’s like. He’s only ever seen Harry talking to Liam and it’s quite obvious they’ve been friends for years by the way they joke around. Louis knows better to think they’re a couple now –he’s seen a pretty girl come in a few times looking for Liam and catches a few glimpses of them kissing in a booth to the side– but watching them interact still makes his insides churn.

It’s definitely not logical to feel jealous of them, but sometimes Louis just wishes he could get to know Harry that well.

“You know, Harry doesn’t bite.”

Louis turns his head to Liam from where he’s cleaning the coffee machine, watches him as he is crouched down arranging a few desserts on the counter quietly, almost as if he hadn’t said anything. “Why would you say that?”

“No reason,” Liam replies, a small smile taking over his lips as he keeps organizing the food on the display. “It’s just that, you try not to pay him any attention and get all fidgety when he comes in everyday. I figured you might be a little scared of him, maybe.”

As much as Louis tries to show respect to Liam, his _boss_ , he can’t help but laugh at his sudden hunch. He shakes his head as Liam turns to see him, truly a bit embarrassed. Is that really what it seems like? Like he’s afraid of him? “That’s not it at all, mate, trust me.”

Liam raises his eyebrows at that, standing up to his full height while he eyes Louis. “Then what is it?”

Taken by surprise, Louis’ laugh gets stuck in his throat, his hands freezing on the spot he was scrubbing. Liam’s probably just joking, wants to get him a little worked up to test him, but Louis can’t seem to shake the question off. He shouldn’t tell his boss what really goes on in his head, what he really thinks about his best friend.

As he starts opening his mouth, Liam’s voice stops him, words sliding out easily through his lips. “Louis, I’m honestly not asking to tease you. As a friend, I’d really like to know.”

As a friend.

It never occurred to Louis that –in all of his time in London– the only friend he’s made is ultimately Liam. Sure, he might greet people in his apartment building and he might share a few words with Steve from time to time, but he talks to Liam everyday. He shares what’s going on through his day and listens to Liam as he goes on about his and they tease each other a little bit here and there. They’re friends.

“You honestly want to know? And you won’t tell Harry this?”

Liam only nods, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter. His attention is exclusively on Louis, patiently waiting for him to speak.

Louis can only sigh a bit before he straightens up, avoiding Liam’s gaze as much as possible. “He’s just really hot, Liam. And I don’t know, he looks like a great person to be around, but I just-.”

“Just what?” Liam urges him on after a moment, his smile undeniably fond.

“I just don’t want to get too wrapped up around him, distracted by him.”

Considering it for a moment, Liam steps around the counter to see if the desserts are all in place before he talks again, his tone nothing but sincere. “It seems like you already are, Lou.”

 

…………

 

“Harry, man, it’s great to see you again!” Niall is quick to wrap his arms around him as tight as he can, practically bouncing on his toes from how excited he is. Harry doesn’t blame him, he’s missed Niall a lot himself.

“Nialler, I’ve missed you more than I dare to admit,” Harry replies with a smile on his face, his own arms around the Irishman’s frame. They hold each other for a moment before Harry steps back, beckoning him inside. Niall wastes no time walking in, setting his bag beside the couch before promptly slumping down on it.

“This seems comfortable enough,” he claims, burrowing further into his spot while looking around. Needless to say, it’s Niall’s first time in Harry’s new place, making him a bit curious as to everything that’s around.

Harry heads to the kitchen first, pulling out a couple of beers from the fridge and making his way back to Niall shortly after. He hands him a beer, sitting down beside him as he takes a sip of his own. “I can take the couch, don’t worry. You know I sleep anywhere.”

“Still can’t sleep on the bed, though?” Niall frowns a little, his hands wrapped neatly around the beer bottle. Harry just shakes his head, his lips already meeting the cool bottle to swig down more of the beverage.

Niall lets his head drop onto Harry’s shoulder, joining him on drinking his beer. They spend a few moments in silence before Harry speaks again. “So, how’s Bradford treating you?”

In a few seconds, Niall clears his throat, sitting up straight again while turning to face Harry, a smile already on his lips. “It’s been great, honestly. The bistro I’m working at has a good manager and the staff is all really welcoming. My flatmate is a little kept to himself, but he’s an alright bloke, if you ask me.”

Harry can’t help laughing a little, his own mouth molding into a smile. “What’s your roommate’s name?”

“He’s Zayn,” Niall answers, shrugging a little when he sees Harry raising his eyebrows. “Arabic, apparently. He’s hotter than he sounds, though. You’d definitely do him.”

Now Harry allows himself to really laugh, even throws his head back for more emphasis. “Why didn’t you invite me to Bradford then?”

While coming up with an answer, Niall sips on his beer and takes his shoes off, finally making himself at home. Harry was actually wondering what took him so long. “I will next time if you promise not to be loud while you shag with him.”

“Deal,” Harry accepts wrapping his arm around Niall’s shoulders, his beer only a few sips from being finished.

They sit together for a while, no words even spoken between them. They just need each other’s company after being apart for over 4 months. Niall leaving definitely left an unspoken hole in Harry’s life, even if he didn’t want to admit it. It just wasn’t the same to have a night out without him, have movie nights without him. Him and Liam were always missing him, it seemed.

“So,” Niall begins, getting up from his seat as he looks around the room. He looks back at Harry momentarily before flashing him a mischievous smile. “What have you been sketching lately?”

Practically jumping off of the couch, Harry starts towards his bag sitting in the corner, but Niall’s quick to see where his eyes are trained on. He immediately sprints over and ahead of him, picking up the bag and holding it tight to his chest.

“What are ya hiding, Haz?”

 _Fuck fuck fuck_. All his Louis sketches are in there. If Niall looks at one of them, he’ll definitely recognize him once they go to the cafe in a couple of hours. He’ll tell Liam and then Harry will be completely fucking screwed. He probably won’t see Louis for the rest of his life.

Harry knows Niall definitely won’t stop until he either confessed or lets him look through the bag. He should just play it smart and lay everything out for him right now instead of going around in circles with him to only make matters worse. Yet, he’s definitely not ready to try to explain his “feelings” yet –if they can even be called that.

“Niall, please just promise you won’t tell Liam.”

Stopping in his spot, Niall looks at Harry a little wide-eyed, his mouth just barely opening. “Oh shit, have you been drawing Liam?”

If the situation wasn’t so serious, Harry would literally roll on the floor laughing his head off, but keeping the subject of his sketches a secret from Liam is _way_ too important. Liam would probably never talk to him again. He finds the first decent barista after such a long time and Harry’s fucking sketching him every single day. Liam specifically asked him not to get involved, yet it’s like the barista’s found his way deep inside Harry’s brain and knows exactly where to tug and make a mess.

This could all go so wrong.

“No, it’s not that,” Harry shakes his head as he sits back down on the sofa, admitting defeat. “Liam was just very specific on not to draw what’s on the sketches and well-”

He cuts himself off once he sees Niall sit down and rummage through the bag, pulling out paper after paper while looking through them. “Who’s the bloke?”

Biting his lip, Harry looks at the table where Niall is setting down all the sketches, the papers just piling on and on. “Liam’s new barista.”

Much to Harry’s surprise, Niall lets out a long whistle, his eyes inspecting each and every drawing available. “You know why you’re fucking screwed, H? Because you fucking fancy this lad.”

 

…………

 

After thinking about it for a full week, Louis decides he’ll actually try to make an effort. Maybe just say hello and how are you. There’s no harm done in trying to be polite, right?

Worst comes to worst, Harry only nods his way like he always does and that’s the end of it. Louis ultimately has nothing to lose, and hopefully, a lot to gain. After he greets him, it’s all in Harry’s hands.

It’s half past ten in the morning when Harry steps inside the cafe, his bag on his shoulder like always, wearing his trademark T-shirt and skinny jeans. He has a coat on today, probably trying to keep warm from the cold London air. His hair is a little more of a mess, the wind definitely sweeping through it on his way here. He looks amazing, as always.

He takes a moment to run a hand through his hair before actually walking towards the counter to silently greet Louis, like he does every morning. Little does he know, Louis is planning on changing that.

Clearing his throat a bit, Louis closes up the cash register and offers him a shy smile. “Hey,” he settles on, his voice only the tiniest bit shaky. “Want me to tell Liam you’re here?”

Harry looks taken aback, to say the least. But not in a bad way. His eyes seem to change, becoming a little more tender before showing Louis a smile of his own. “That’d be great, yeah. Thank you.”

Louis nods, smile still on display as he pokes his head inside the kitchen to notify Liam. He’s quick to come back out to the front though, happy to see Harry hasn’t retreated to his booth. “The wind’s really strong today, huh?”

He knows it’s probably the lamest thing to talk about, but he can’t think of anything else to save his life. Yet Harry doesn’t seem to mind, even chuckling a bit before talking again. “Yeah, my hair was literally everywhere on the way here. Good thing it’s a short walk.”

Leaning against the counter, Louis drums his fingers on his arm while considering what Harry said. It’s obvious they’re only engaging in small talk, but at least it’s something. “Why don’t you take the bus?” Louis comments, actually rather curious.

Harry shrugs a bit, smiling a little wider while he takes Louis in with his eyes. “I like walking. It gives me time to think. Besides, London’s too beautiful to be seen from a bus window.”

“That’s true,” Louis admits a little absentmindedly, turning away from Harry to tend to the customer that just came in. As Harry makes his way to his booth, smile still on display, Louis knows that was not bad.

Definitely not bad at all.

 

…………

 

They’ve been quite amicable during the last few weeks, if Louis can say so himself. They exchange a few words when Harry first gets in and then proceed to have on and off conversations when Louis refills his tea. Harry tells him about his own job and his aspiring artist career while Louis mainly talks about what it’s been like to live in London.

They talk about their likes and dislikes at times, maybe even a bit about their families when Louis starts feeling a little homesick. He knows he’ll go home for Christmas in a month, but it’s inevitable to miss them after being in London for almost 3 months. Harry says he gets it though, being away from his family himself.

It’s easy to say they become sort of almost friends, talking to each other almost everyday. And Louis definitely doesn’t mind, Harry is a really great guy afterall. He gets why Liam was a little confused as to why he used to avoid him, given that Harry is one of the nicest, most down to earth lads he’s ever met.

It’s evident why him and Liam are best friends.

“Hey, Lou?” Harry looks up from his sketchbook, the pencil still pressed on the blank page.

“Yeah?” Louis replies while he sets down the cup of tea in front of Harry.

“I know this might sound like an odd request,” he begins, setting his work on the other side of the table, “but I was wondering if you would like to model for me.”

Louis audibly chokes on a breath, immediately freezing where he is, looking at Harry a little frazzled. “Model as in-?”

“As in anything you’re comfortable with,” Harry quickly cuts him off, voice as reassuring as possible. “It can even be fully clothed if that’s what you want. I just- Louis, you’re a very fit guy, It’d be a pleasure to sketch you out, maybe even paint you.”

Oh. _Oh_.

He’s fit then. Wow. It’d been ages since a guy called him anything remotely similar to that. He can’t help the blush creeping on his cheeks, the slow smile planting itself on his lips. To be called fit by almost anyone is a compliment of sorts, but to be called fit by _Harry_.

“When are you available?” Louis breathes out, definitely a lot more relaxed than a few seconds ago.

Harry offers him a smile, picking up his tea and taking a sip. He seems happy enough with the beverage, his fingers immediately seeking the warmth of the cup. “I was thinking tomorrow, since it’s my day off. I could just wait here until you’re done with your shift and then we can head to my apartment.”

Still a little flushed, Louis can only nod, already making plans for the next day. “Alright, yeah. That sounds great.”

 

…………

 

The next day, Harry wears a button down even if it’s freezing outside. Sometimes he wears them when he’s trying to make more of an effort, yet he leaves them buttoned up all the way to his stomach, showing off his upper chest tattoos. If he’s honest, he won’t take the coat off until they get back to his apartment, but he really wants to see how Louis reacts to the change.

To say he was excited to have Louis model for him was an understatement. After he asked Liam for permission, he barely even waited to ask Louis to model and, much to his surprise, he agreed. Harry wasn’t entirely sure that Louis would even consider it. Yet, here he is, waiting until the clock strikes 8 p.m. so he and Louis can head back to his place.

And he honestly doesn’t know what to expect after that.

Most of the other models he’s had have been girls, and all them easy at that. They strip down with ease and think that he’s actually into them because he takes his time drawing every detail. None of them really took under consideration if he was actually straight or not. When he’d see them a few days later, he’d go on to explain he was actually gay and they pretty much overreacted and quit on Liam. Which was just unprofessional and unfair.

The few guys that had modeled for him were hot and all, but they all just seemed to want to fuck. Sure, Harry didn’t deny them that, but there was never something romantic about it. Just another one night stand and that was that.

And then, Louis.

Louis, with his perfect blue eyes and his chiseled cheekbones and his dainty nose. With that goofy smile and that loud laugh and all that teasing.

He honestly feels like he’ll explode before he even starts sketching.

“Are you ready to go?” Louis asks at 8 on the dot, almost grinning at him. He’s got a backpack and a jacket on, for a change, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Harry nods quickly as he begins to put his stuff away, immediately getting up and following Louis out the door. The weather has definitely cooled down over the last few weeks, the beginning of sloshy ice after raining evidence of that. Harry is almost tempted to take the bus just to get it over with, but they’d wait a long while for the bus to actually come. So, walking it is.

Turning to the left, in direction to his flat, Harry starts leading the way, careful to see if Louis is coming with. They walk side by side quickly, all while dodging the ice on the sidewalk and talking aimlessly.

It only takes them several minutes to reach the apartment building, quickly making their way up the stairs to Harry’s flat shortly after. Harry unlocks the door and lets Louis inside, heading straight to the heater to turn it on. He’d normally think about saving money and just put on a jumper, but he has a guest –a very important one at that– and he might end up taking some of his clothes off, so he’d rather Louis be comfortable.

He turns around to find Louis already stripped off his backpack and jacket, hands playing with the hem of his shirt while he looks up at Harry. “Where do you want me?”

Going to his kitchen now, he pulls a stool over to the living room and sets it in front of the couch, patting it as if to invite Louis over to sit on it. Louis takes the hint, walking over to it while pulling his shirt over his head and-

 _Fucking fuck fuck fuck_.

His back is compact and tight, even as slightly built as he is. He’s got even more tattoos running up his arms, mostly all in black ink, with a few lining his chest. Oh god, his bloody chest. All milky skin and soft peachy chest hair, with the slightest bit of love handles to the sides and a ghostly six-pack raking his abdomen.

And he hasn’t even seen his fucking legs.

Harry turns around quietly while he removes his coat, his hands getting only somewhat clammy. He grabs the blanket that’s draped behind the couch all while listening to the sound of what seems like Louis undoing his pants and taking them off. He takes a moment before looking at Louis again, trying to keep his gaze up to his face so he’s not tempted any more.

What on _earth_ made him think this was actually a good idea?

He gestures for Louis to sit down on the stool and thanks whatever god's having mercy on him right now for Louis keeping his boxers on. If he hadn’t, Harry would probably be dead by now. He asks Louis to sit up straight while bending his legs a little bit, one foot resting comfortably over the other. Placing the blanket on his lap, Harry decides to have him put his right arm over the blanket while the other rests on the edge of the stool to keep him straight. Finally, Harry angles his face slightly upwards, leaning it gently on his left shoulder while he looks to the left himself, his expression serious and maybe slightly stern.

Quietly, Harry sits on the couch in front of him, grabbing his pencil and a canvas that has been sitting around the flat for a few months now. He fixes his eyes on Louis for a moment, almost begs his sex-starved body to not get hard right now, and then proceeds to start sketching his frame.

It takes him anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour to sketch out a person, maybe a little more with the background and whatever props he’s using for the painting. He thinks he’ll maybe have to ask Louis to come again another time to actually get in colors and everything, but he’s getting ahead of himself. Maybe he’ll end up doing something completely different to what he has in mind at the moment.

“Hey, Harry?” Louis speaks up from his spot, careful not to move too much.

“Yeah?”

He can see Louis chewing on the inside of his cheek a little while turning his eyes to Harry, watching him sketch a little. “Do we have to be quiet the entire time or can we talk?”

As much as he respects Louis and knows how hard it is to keep still like that for a long time, he can’t help but laugh quietly at his question, enjoying Louis’ sudden vulnerability a little too much. “We can talk, as long as you don’t move too much.”

“I didn’t know you had so many tattoos on you,” he notes, his eyes darting around the exposed flesh Harry’s shirt fails to cover. Harry isn’t the type of person to be shy when someone is checking him out, so he can only enjoy the fact that Louis seems to like what he sees.

Yet, he decides to take a different approach rather than flirting, trying to tease him a little. “Please, you have plenty yourself.”

Louis rolls his eyes as Harry’s words leave his lips, his own taking a bit of a sour turn. He stays quiet for a moment while Harry keeps working, but he knows the silence won’t last long. “What do they mean?”

Laughing again, Harry works on adding more details to his torso, his eyes jumping back and forth between Louis and the canvas. He grins broadly as he watches him in position, draws in a few more places before replying. “I don’t think I’ll get to explain all of them right now.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry can see Louis begin to smile again, a plan obviously coming into focus in his head. “Fine, then you explain one of my liking then I’ll explain one of your liking, just to keep it even.”

He knows this will probably only get him in a bit of trouble, but then again, it would be a very intimate way to learn more about Louis. He finds that his own tattoos are all mainly stories and things that mean a lot to him. “Alright, seems fair enough.”

Keeping his position, Louis breathes out a little, a sudden blush taking over his cheeks as he looks away from Harry. “Take your shirt off first, Styles, I can’t see half of them.”

And that is a surprise to him.

He knows Louis is already half naked in front of him, but he’s never actually gone and taken off clothing in the presence of a model before. He likes to keep things strictly professional while working, unlike other people. But then again, this is Louis he’s talking about. Louis, the guy he’s been using as inspiration for weeks. Louis, the guy he hasn’t been able to get out of his head for longer than that. He’s not just some halfway decent girl he’s picked out of a crowd to see if she’s ballsy enough to get naked in front of him.

So he sets the canvas and the pencil down, his fingers making their way down his shirt to start unbuttoning it slowly. He doesn’t know when he decided to turn the flirt back on, but he dares to look at Louis right in the eye as he works his shirt open, taking his time as he pushes it off his shoulders and slides it down his arms. To show him he means business, Harry grabs the shirt and throws it at the pile of clothes already on the floor, straightening up so his chest is out more and his tattoos are more visible. “Ask away, Tomlinson.”

As he grabs the canvas and pencil again, he tries to deny that he sees Louis hold the blanket closer to his lap, his arm pressing down harder than it was a few moments before. It must be solely a coincidence. “What’s the mermaid mean?”

“Temptation,” Harry starts after a few seconds, his eyes looking at the tattoo briefly. “I kinda wanted the mermaid’s wrists to be tied above her head, to symbolize how temptation won’t do you any good, but I didn’t have space left in my arm.”

Louis seems to consider this in silence as best as he can, his facial expression barely changing. He looks at Harry’s arm to contemplate the new information, nodding the slightest as if to say Harry can now ask him.

“Why the deer?”

To Harry’s surprise, Louis actually smiles at his choice, his fingers drumming against his leg gently while he talks. “My step-dad took us out camping for a weekend once and it was warm enough that deer were still around. I wasn’t careful about it and I almost got run over by one. Even so, I think they’re really peaceful animals, so it’s sort of a ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ thing.” 

Harry fixes his eyes on Louis’ legs next, adding muscle lines and a few shadows here and there before working on his feet. He gets why the tattoo is special to Louis, a reminder of a somewhat scary experience but a lesson he’s now learned for life. It makes sense to get something as significant as that tattooed on you.

“What about the eagle?” Louis follows up, gaze on the tattoo even if Harry keeps moving his arm while he draws. 

“Liberty,” Harry confesses easily. “I got it around the time I moved to this place. It was to piss Liam off a little, but it was also something I’d wanted to get for a while. It’s sort of what it was like for me to come to London and start making art.”

It’s hard to tell what Louis is actually thinking about when his face is straight and holds very minimal expressions. He thinks Louis is sort of pleased by what he just heard, only thinks so further when Louis adds, “Fly free like an eagle.”

Moving on to Louis’ face and neck, Harry stays quiet for a while, considering the different options he can ask about. Mainly though, he wants to actually get Louis’ facial expression correctly, not wanting his mouth to ruin it. “Tell me about the pac-man,” he decides after a while.

Louis’ face breaks out with a laugh, his body moving along for a moment before he speaks. “That’s easy, Styles, it was my favorite game when I was a kid.”

Harry merely shrugs at the response, rather focuses on his neck and his chest for the details. He’s barely done with the chest when he hears Louis talk again, slow and quiet.

“What’s with the anatomical heart?”

His hand stops moving once the words reach his ears, as clear as day. He stares right at the drawing, yet doesn’t see it. He’s taken back to a cold January night among the tombstones, a shiver running wild down his spine, goosebumps breaking through his skin. “That’s off limits, Lou, sorry.”

Louis makes a low whining sound, probably as a joke, his eyes unable to see the reaction he’s truly gotten from Harry. “C’mon, we agreed for it to be any tattoo.”

“Not that one, Louis,” Harry pushes off, trying to start sketching again to forget the question.

“What’s so wrong with that one?” Louis nearly snaps, his voice raised a few notches.

“It’s to remind myself that my heart is only a muscle that pumps blood in my body, not something capable of feeling love.”

His words crash against silence, everything near frozen on the spot. His hands shake in a way they haven’t in years, memories flooding his head and his heart far too quickly to even react. He knows he has to get it out, knows it’s the only way to move on from it, at least for the moment. So he starts off slowly, his voice barely audible.

“When my father died, a part of me sort of went with him. He always promised that everything was going to be okay, always said that everything was for the best, and then he got sick. It wasn’t pretty and it definitely took its toll on all of us, me and my mom and my sister. We’re still really close and all, but the thought of my dad leaving my mom like that, after promising to love her until the end of her days, it hit me hard. It made me realize that love just isn’t enough.”

Harry puts the canvas and pencil down, and rubs his hands on his thighs to get them to stop shaking, even if it’s only for a moment. He barely registers when he gets up, picking up his shirt from the ground before putting it on again quietly. It takes him a few seconds to notice that Louis has gotten up as well, the blanket left on the floor as he makes his way towards Harry.

He lifts his arm slowly, setting his hand benignly on Harry’s butterfly tattoo. When Harry doesn’t pull back, he puts his other hand above the first, looking up at Harry.

“What about the butterfly?”

Looking down at Louis’ hands, Louis’ face, he notices the length of his eyelashes and the soft wrinkles around his eyes. The slow rise and fall of his chest, the gentle press of his hands on his middle. “Butterflies in my stomach,” he admits quietly.

Louis pushes himself up on his toes, one of his hands coming up on Harry’s shoulder. He looks into Harry’s eyes for the longest second, his voice a mere whisper in the quiet around them. “Like these?”

Slowly coming closer, Louis stops once his lips are an inch away from Harry’s, his eyes falling shut. Harry can feel his breath on his mouth, his chest pressed up against him, his heart pounding against his own. Yet, before he can lean in to close the distance off entirely, Louis draws back. He lets his feet touch the ground completely before he shakes his head quickly, already ducking down to get his clothes.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

He doesn’t know how much time passes, if it’s only a few minutes or even hours, but all he can see is Louis practically running out the door, taking Harry’s heart with him.

 

…………

 

He doesn’t leave his apartment for the next couple of days. He doesn’t answer Liam’s calls or texts. He doesn’t answer Niall’s either. He doesn’t spend his time sketching or watching the moon or painting or nothing.

He just lays in bed and asks unfair questions at the universe.

Why is that, after all the time it’s taken him to actually open up to someone, that person leaves? Why must he sit through pain so many times in his life? Why does he have to get hurt time and time again?

He’s learned the lesson quite a few times in his 25 years on earth, if he’s honest.

And yet, his dad died. His dad died and took everything with him. Killed the feeling of safety and unconditional love Harry had in his mind. He was stripped down to his bones to lay on the cold winter snow without any protection. Scars bare and flesh raw, tears forever falling from his eyes.

If that wasn’t enough, he got his heart torn out by a person he barely knew, a person that gave him some of that security back and then left him for the wolves. He tore his walls down so fast, open completely to this harmless stranger and only wound up worse.

What was the point of life anyway? To sit through the pain every single time just to hope that the universe throws you a bone every once in a while? It’s not worth living, if he’s honest.

But then there’s that feeling. The one that makes you feel so overwhelmed, makes you feel as if you were about to explode from everything that’s keep inside. It’s not necessarily a good feeling or a bad feeling, but it makes you feel completely and undoubtedly _alive_.

The butterflies.

The pitter-patter of your heart beating so loud in your ears, that person so close you can feel, touch, smell, maybe even taste them.

And finally, it’s like you are found. You are safe and you are warm and you are loved and you are _home_.

Home.

Getting up as fast as he can, Harry grabs the first jumper and pair of jeans he can find. He pushes his feet into his shoes and puts a beanie on his head, all while grabbing his coat and keys before exiting his apartment.

He knows what he has to do.

 

…………

 

The front door slams shut and Louis almost jumps out of his bones. Scared by the sudden commotion, he looks up, finding only Harry by the door. He seems agitated, his breaths shallow and quick as if he had just run from his flat all the way there. He only wastes a second before regaining his posture and fixing his gaze up as well, his eyes already on Louis’.

Louis can feel a shiver running down his spine, Harry’s eyes determined and extremely kind at the same time. He’s got a smile creeping into his lips, teeth almost biting it back in… nervousness? This is all too much to process in under a minute.

“I just spent the last ten minutes thinking about all the things I didn’t do in my life because I feared getting hurt,” he starts, voice soft and about as gravelly as ever. He pushes his hair out of his eyes, leaning against the counter on his arms while taking a deep breath.

Louis can only find himself nodding and watching Harry, far too intrigued in what he’s going to say.

“And I thought, why don’t I give myself the benefit of the doubt? Maybe I’m overthinking everything way too much and I haven’t even given myself the opportunity to ask a question.”

Still too startled to speak, he sees Harry unfold in front of him, opening up like he did a few nights before in his apartment. It’s completely fascinating and somewhat worrying all the same.

“So, Louis,” Harry breathes out, his hands taking Louis’ from where they are splayed on top of the counter. “Would you go out on a date with me, tomorrow night?”

If he were to stick to his plan, Louis should probably turn him down politely and just get Harry _the fuck out of his head_. But, at this point, Louis can only think one thing.

 _Fuck the plan_.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> I would really appreciate comments and feedback from you too.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @coughsyruplarry
> 
> All the love, 
> 
> Andy x


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